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Thursday, September 8, 2016

After nearly nine hours on the trail, we finally arrive in
Les-eng. One is tired and can’t wait to just lie down and recover some sleep
lost to driving from Bulacan to Baguio. The other just wants to wash up maybe for
lack of anything else to do. I, on the other hand, am just anxious that the only
store in the village won’t open tonight.

Paul was the first to wash up using the stored water in the
daycare center and Jepoi was busy unpacking. Meanwhile, I was asking Manong
Elio for directions to our destination the following morning while securing
pans and pots for the night’s meal. When Paul finished, I tried to connect the
waterline to the daycare center from Manong Elio’s. As it turned out, the
waterline had just been cut off from the main source. Talk about a stroke of
fate’s folly! We went down to another house in the village and got only a
trickle of the last drops left from the water source. We looked farther and I
remembered there was a waterline from a different source just below the
kagawad’s house. When we got to the spot, I noticed that the faucet had already
been replaced by a hose leading to a pigsty. I knocked at the nearest house and
exhausted what little Kankana-ey and Ilokano I had. I kept repeating the
keywords danum (water), wada (there is), and agdigos (bathe). All I got in return was
the word ‘Tagalog’ in a murmur of unintelligible words rendered in a tone of
confusion and surrender. The last time I repeated ‘agdigos’, the old woman
pressed a switch and the pigsty was lit up. We thanked her and we bade her
goodbye. There was no use denying the current state of affairs – we have to
wash up among the pigs. When Jepoi settled, I left him and prepared dinner.
Paul was already sleeping.

Day 2

Curious kids joined us in the morning. Jepoi kept them at
bay while I was preparing breakfast. He was showing them magic tricks. Paul was
immersing himself in the grandeur of Les-eng. There was no need to rush. Even
though the continuation of the route was going to be new to all of us, I knew,
based on the endurance of my companions on Day 1, that we could manage the
downhill trek to La Union. We left at ten. We had lunch in Sugpon, Ilocos Sur.
Then at a little past two, we had our exhilarating Amburayan River crossing.
The current was very strong. It was as if all the mountains of western Benguet
had poured all their tears down to Ilocos Sur through the mighty Amburayan. I
fastened myself onto the bamboo raft as manong skillfully negotiated with the
raging water. After what seemed like a demo, Paul, who didn’t know how to swim,
was the second to get onto the raft. I was nervous for him especially because
manong had already told us that the color of the water was threatening a
flashflood. But he survived the scariest 3 minutes of his life. When Jepoi got
to the other side, we were all consumed in recounting the thrill we had just
had.

the scariest three minutes of his life

It was an uphill trek again. Finally at 8pm, we got to the
highway in Balaoan, La Union after more than an hour of precarious muddy
motorcycle ride. Paul was convinced his driver deserved more than 300 pesos. He
was prudent enough to ask me first. My driver was also dropping a hint that it
should be 400 pesos. But I was quick to reestablish the agreed-upon price—the
same amount that my friend paid one of our drivers the weekend before under the
same circumstances—rainy, muddy and late. We caught the bus back to Baguio
where Paul had left his van. It had been a great weekend!

The lessons we picked up

It was my eleventh birthday as Lagataw. In August, 2005 I
had my first communion with nature in Mt Romelo in Siniloan, Laguna. Every year
I celebrate my anniversary by spending some time away from home regardless of
whether I have a companion or not. And just like any travel I do, I always pick
up bits and pieces of lessons along the way.

The value of giving depends on what is given

And while Jepoi showed some learning in how he found
something to give the kids other than candy and coins which introduce an
innocent child to the concepts of greed and begging, Paul and I can pick up
some important lessons from the search for water during the first night and our
dealing with the habal-habal drivers during the second.

A tip for tips

As travelers, it breaks our hearts to see the ordeal the
locals go through doing what they do on an ordinary day—things we normally
can’t and aren’t willing to do ourselves. This necessitates us to give a tip. But
we’re forgetting that our willingness and ability are not the standards which
set the price. This practice of paying more than the value someone deems right for
the work he does is the birth of the ‘standard price for tourists’. And
eventually this results in other travelers asking ‘Why is the cost higher than
that of the locals?’ We actually sometimes contribute to the creation of
something we complain about. Goodwill is good but tipping is another story.

Travel beyond tourism

I’ve always enjoyed traveling like a salmon. I love to go
against the mainstream. But this recent travel slapped me with the realization
that it’s been eleven years and I still travel like any other tourist after all.

When there’s a glitch in the envisioned trip, a typical
tourist tends to blame everything on the system of the place he has come to. When
we were becoming frustrated looking for water in Les-eng, my impatience led me
to a string of vain poetry ‘This is the paradox here Jepoi! For a place where
springs and streams abound, it is almost impossible to find water.’ It led me
to the selfish thought of how the villagers were too indolent not to be doing
anything about the problem. ‘No wonder there is no progress in this place!’ I
quipped. Our own selfish affinity for comfort and convenience makes us forget
that it was not a problem as far as the villagers were concerned. We forget
that none of them would feel the need to wash up at nine in the evening at any
time of the year. And in the first place, none of them might feel the need to
be awake at that time of night. We forget that we are the problem that has
arrived in the village; that we are the intruders that stirred the dogs and the
babies into a confused chorus of distress and panic. Our romanticized notion of
traveling makes us assume that it is right and proper for the old woman to rouse
herself up to open her door and attend to the weary filthy travelers because
that’s what the oft-repeated dogma of hospitality has inculcated in us. Our
vanity and self-importance have made us believe that we are the guests that
need to be accommodated and that the villagers were not responsible enough to
learn Tagalog. For us we are not a disturbance; we are a spectacle to behold.
And this shame dawned on me as I woke up the following morning to once again
see how an ordinarily uneventful day would transpire in Les-eng. It was
difficult to forgive myself.

Don't keep the kids at bay! Come to terms with the fact that curiosity is natural to kids.

But that’s just the way it is. We focus too much on things
that are easily seen. We are fanatics of the LNT principles and the BMC. But we
forget to look into the very element that constitutes our persona—our
perspective! And while our perspective is not readily observable, it dictates
the way we behave in the place we’ve come to. It determines to what degree we’d
demand for beer in a place where the nearest store is 4 kilometers and 3 hills
away. And it decides whether we’ll take a plain question like ‘What brings you
here?’ as an ordinary inquiry or an accusation.

Sadly, the Department of Tourism appears to be taking the
perspective of the tourists. They accredit guides who are fluent in English and
Tagalog and keep the more able and adept locals from guiding visitors. They prefer
homestays with raised toilets. And they allot funds to replace wild trails with
the more civilized footpaths and banisters because tourists can’t walk on a slippery
terrain. They need to be conveyed safely and comfortably to their desired
selfie spot.

And so with the influx of visitors who try to impose their
culture on their hosts, some indigenous practices are slowly disappearing.
Precious cultural entities like the day-un
have been labeled as pagan. The locals have become frogs and the intruders,
kings.

So are you traveling to really be in a different place? Or
are you traveling to look for your origin in your destination? As for me, in Benguet, I choose to be in Benguet.

Feedjit

About Me

The Lagataw is free-spirited. He knows no limits in space and time. But he sets limits between him and the places he visits. He respects the culture, creed and serenity of the places that take him in. The Lagataw adheres to low-impact traveling and sets out on most of his journeys alone. The Lagataw has no destination so he never gets lost. The Lagataw advocates responsible traveling free of commerce and politics. The Lagataw believes that there are only two things you can do with your body: YOU CAN EITHER DESTROY IT YOURSELF OR HAVE IT DESTROYED BY SOMETHING OR SOMEONE ELSE!